


Morning

by Lydia_E_Nheers



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, This is so damned fluffy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_E_Nheers/pseuds/Lydia_E_Nheers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakfast with our resident pathologist and detective. Basically schmoopy domestic fluff for which I have no excuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is my first foray into Endeavour fic. I haven't read any of the Morse books, nor have I seen the show (Morse). So all I know is from Endeavour itself. 
> 
> Yes, I know it's a rare pairing. But I ship DeBryn and Morse so damned hard. Rare pairs need love too! I really hope I didn't get them too OOC and that you enjoy it! 
> 
> Also, this is neither beta'd nor Britpicked. And written on my phone. So please be kind! Thank you!

Max woke up and looked over at the man currently sharing his bed. Morse lay beside him, still dead to the world. His entire body covered by the blankets, only his face, peavefully relaxed in a way that it never did whilst awake was visible. 

A warmth that had very little to do with the weak November sunlight streaming in through the curtained window filled Max's core, and he smiled, watching him sleep. After a long moment, the siren call of awaiting tea forced him to slip from the bed, careful not to disturb Morse, put a pair of slippers on over his bare feet and throw on his dressing gown over his pyjamas before quietly exiting the room. 

After a quick detour to the loo, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen to put the kettle on and the coffee. Tea for himself, strong coffee for Morse. While he liked tea well enough, Max knew that Morse needed a firm, caffinated kick in the arse first thing before he could be useful to anyone. Usually, it was in the form of cheap, nasty instant coffee, drunk while he shaved and dressed all at once. But today, as Morse didn't have to be to the police station until two, and Max didn't have to go into the morgue today unless directly needed, meant the two of them could have a bit of a lie in, and Morse could luxuriate with a good cup of coffee. 

The clock above the cooker told Max it was almost nine in the morning and he took a moment while his tea was steeping, and the coffee pot was gurgling to think about his plan for that day. He would linger over a hot breakfast that he would make Morse actually sit and relax with, rather than eat standing up and dash off, then the two of them would sit in the lounge.  Morse's shirt desperately needed ironing, moreso after being shoved into his duffel the night before, and he would do it while Morse himself read a book in front of a roaring fire. He would then drop him at the station at two and spend the rest of his day in the library and then taking a long leisurely stroll. 

He and Morse have been seeing each other for about seven months, all of them a secret, of course. If it weren't a matter of their respective genders, it was a fact that it just wasn't done for a copper to be seen getting too overly friendly with the resident pathologist. Looked bad. Of course, Morse didnt care about reputation at the station. Already had one as a bit of a nutter. Too smart for his own good. Saw murder everywhere he looked. (Though, he was pretty much always right) But Max cared about Morse's career. The man had far more utility (and happiness) as a detective than a professor or shoe salesman, and he intended to keep him one.

Max had a inkling that Detective Inspector Thursday knew. Or at least suspected. He had found himself subject to more than one long, searching stares by the DI when he thought Max wasn't looking. But he believed that Thursday wouldn't say anything. He was a good man. A veteren from the war. Probably saw real evil and horror, and knew that love was rarer. He also knew that Thursday cared very much for his bagman. Saw him like a son, and Max knew that would stop him from reporting them. He must've approved of whatever thought, for he hasn't yet cornered him the morgue and pulled the "you hurt him and I break your legs" speech. 

A pair of arms sneaking around his middle  and a solid weight pressing against his back brought him out of his thoughts. "Coffee?" Morse's voice was still rusty with sleep and Max felt his face dropping onto his shoulder. 

"Good morning to you too, Morse" Max said, a smile spreading over his face and he squeezed Morse's arms. 

"Good morning" he corrected, still half asleep. "Is the coffee ready?" 

"Yes." He turned in his arms, leaned up and snuck a quick kiss to his lips. "Go. My tea's ready too" he resisted the urge to run his fingers through Morse's thick, rust coloured hair, now in complete disarray and all over the place. He noticed that Morse had put on pyjama bottoms, but left his shirt off, and his eyes traveled down to the almost coppery patch of hair on Morse's bare chest. Before his thoughts could turn in a more lascivious direction, he gently pushed him towards the coffee pot. "Get your coffee and sit. I'll make us some breakfast. Eggs?" 

Morse helped himself to a large mug of hot coffee and held it in two hands, inhaling deeply. "I can't. I have to be to work" he said, already looking more alive.

"In five hours, Morse. It's not nine yet." Max pointed to the clock. 

Morse coloured a little. "Haven't had a morning off in a while." 

"Yes, and now you do. So let's enjoy it." he turned and took a large sip of tea. "So. Breakfast. Eggs?"

"Yes. Please." He took a seat at the table and yawned widely. 

It was nice to see Morse so comfortable here, Max thought to himself as he began to gather the necessary ingredients and make breakfast. At first, Morse could hardly sit down without being directly invited to, and even then he had a vauge uneasiness about it. As though it were impolite to take a seat in your...what were they? Boyfriends sounded weird to him. Lovers? Partners? He didn't know. There wasn't really a word to describe what they were to each other. They had regular sex, ate together, shared things which each other and yet Max didn't call him by his first name. Of course, he knew it, but he also knew he hated it and so he referred to him by surname only. 

As time passed, Morse grew more comfortable with coming and going in Max's little house. He used the shower without asking, made himself coffee on the rare morning he was awake first, even helped himself to the rather expansive library in Max's sitting room. He had even left a few records there and occasionally, opera would be playing in the evenings when they read together in silence. Theirs was a comfortable relationship. Beautifully familiar, like an old song he had forgotten the lyrics to. 

Morse spent more nights here now than not, unless he was on a case. In that case, Max was lucky if he saw him one day out of three. He spent the alone time catching up on the work which always seemed to be piling up more these days, or maybe  Morse just provided a good distraction. Or maybe he worked hard to prevent himself from worrying uselessly.

He assembled two plates of fried eggs and toast and set one down in front of him. "More coffee?" He nodded at his empty mug.

"Please" Morse replied and gave him a half smile. Max knew just how much Morse cherished good coffee when he got it. He refilled his mug and then poured himself another cup of tea before sitting down at the table. 

They ate in companionable silence, as they spent a great deal of their mornings together now that the inital awkwardness of a new lover at the breakfast table had passed. By now, Max knew Morse took his coffee black and wasn't one for witty conversation until at least two cups had been drunk. Though, Max still couldn't resist taking his free hand and brushing a quick kiss to the knuckles. It was an old fashioned gesture that just felt right in that moment. Morse looked up slightly surprised, but smiled happily and finished his slice of toast. 

When they finished and cleaned up, Morse told him he was going up for a shower with that little knowing smirk and heated glance that had Max half hard before they even reached the loo. Morse laughed and pulled Max in with him.

The shirt never got ironed. 


End file.
